Until You Make Me Move
by PoeticPromise
Summary: Who'd have thought that the guy she met, and was hit on by, while stoned would save her life? Oliver sure as hell didn't think so. Follow Oliver as she ends up being watched over by Special Ops Mission's Wil Willis, as Russia raids the US.
1. And Off We Go

_**Oh, hello there, everyone! I'm uploading my first story to here *dundundun***_

_**Okays. If you're nice, I'll be quick about updates. I write most of this on my iPod and can only get to WiFi to email it to myself on certain occasions. But, if I'm inspired, I might sit here forever and retype things out. I know this first chapter is short, but I'm really weird abotu how I split up stuff. Sometimes you'll get these puny little chapters, other time's you'll get these like... bajillion pages long one.**_

_**I don't own Wil of Special Ops Mission... yet... The man that is built like a god shall one day be MINE. MINE, I SAY!**_

_***cough***_

_**Enjoy!**_

Olivia had barely gotten home and began to relax when there was a knock at her door, the pattern quickly annoying and inconsistent. She stood up from the seat she had just taken on her couch, groaning as she did so before she went to the door. She put her eye to the peep hole, and her pale greens grew wide at the sight of her cell phone held up to the other side.

She knew not who was holding the electronic, but she jerked the door open. "You're fucking kidding me," she said upon seeing a grinning Wil standing there. He lowered his hand with her phone, and stepped forward, forcing her back into her apartment.

"That's not a friendly greeting," he commented. Ollie frowned, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just thought I'd bring your phone back to you," Wil said simply, a smile still on his face. A few light brown curls poked out from under his tan baseball cap with a patch of the flag on it.

"Fine. You brought it. Now give it and go," she said coldly, holding her hand out for it. More to be a smartass than anything, he reached for it with his free hand and tried to kiss it. Oliver quickly jerked her hand back and slapped him.

His head stayed turned from the hit for a moment before he looked back at her. "Is that how you treat everyone who does you a favor?" he asked as calm as if nothing had happened.

"You aren't trying to do something nice," Ollie said, reaching for her phone, though he held it just out of her reach. "What do you-"

But she was caught off guard by a deafening boom followed by a crash. The whole building shook in response, and both ducked like it could help them. She looked up to Wil wide eyed.

"What was th-" but he cut her off.

"That was a damn explosion," he explained, the sound all too familiar. And he was able to tell that it wasn't some simple bust in a pipe. Barely a moment later, gun shots could be heard, confirming his growing suspicion. "Get down!" he ordered, though he pulled her down as he ducked just inside the doorway.

He kneeled by her, his hand seeming to instantly wield a handgun she knew not of. He held it with the short barrel was aimed down, finger on the trigger. She leaned against the wall, silent, and watched as he stood up. He carefully glanced out of her open door before pushing it closed, only securing it with the dead bolt. It made for one less route that someone could enter without being known if the building was raided. More explosions could be heard, but they were further away than the first. Screams of women and children were cut short if one of the bullets being sprayed caught them.

Oliver suddenly seemed like a frightened child as she stared up at Wil with wide eyes. He made his way to the window that looked out over the street, moving sideways and staying out of the view of anyone who might be outside. He stood next to the window, his back to the wall before he carefully peeked around the edge of the frame.

"Shit..." he murmured at the sight. The once three story building just across the road was now a pile of rubble and dust, and what looked like an army in clad in alien, red camouflage uniforms marched down the street. A group was headed straight for them. Before any of them could spot him, he ducked down and moved quickly across the room toward Olivia.

"Shit? Why 'shit'? What's going on?" she asked, but Wil had grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. He hushed her, but she wanted information. "Why did you say shit? What did you see? Wha-?"

But instead of simply telling her to be quiet, Wil reached to her, holding one hand on the back of her head, and the other covering her mouth. "We have to get out of here," he said, "Is there any basement with some sort of window or something?" When he'd asked, he pulled his hands back, but almost wished he hadn't.

"I don't know!" Ollie said, "I'm not a damn janitor. I don't know my way around all of this building. Did you expect me to know of some conv-" but, again, he cut her off.

"A simple 'I don't know' would have worked," he said, grabbing her wrist and going toward the door, still holding his gun in his other hand. He let go of her and slowly pulled the door toward them, just enough to look out. He put his head to the frame and saw what he could from the angle before moving to the other side and repeating. When he saw no one he stepped out, but instantly had his gun raised, firing off two rounds. The sound of the shots so close made Oliver yelp.

"Come on," he said, looking behind him before grabbing her hand and pulling her out. Nothing much had changed in the hallway aside from the lump of red camouflage around the corner. He pulled her in that direction, but let go of her, expecting her to follow. Oliver paused as they passed the fallen Russian and stared at the lifeless body in shock. Two holes went through his neck, and were as neat as a gunshot to one's artery could be. A spray of blood marked the wall next to him, and made her feel sick.

"I said, come on!" Wil yelled at her, sprinting back toward her. She'd been distracted for longer than she thought, and he had apparently gone ahead assuming she'd follow. She gave the corpse a last glance before running toward him, meeting him a few yards away.

"Unless you plan on getting shot," he said, "You can't just stop and stare like that. I'm not going to babysit you just because I'd like to see you out of this alive. I can't, otherwise we're both going to end up dead."

The pair had quickly made their way down the stairs that offered a stop at every floor, but Wil only paused just ahead of her at the beginning of each flight to ensure that the corridor was clear. When they were about to reach ground floor, she grabbed his sleeve to stop him. "I hear voices," Oliver whispered quietly.

He glanced back at her and acknowledged what she said, and told her to stay there. He skillfully crept down out of her view, and she couldn't even hear his footsteps on the old floors as he went forward.

_God, he's good..._

Oliver was restless with nervous energy and her adrenaline beginning to pump with the strange events that started with Wil's arrival. She gripped the railing tightly, leaning forward a bit wanting to see what was going on. She listened as best she could with the distant sounds or explosions and closer gunfire. She heard the beginning of a yell before a heaving breath and a thud. Whoever the yell had come from had gotten attention because she heard the rushed footsteps of Russian soldiers.

There was a lot of gun shots, some quick, like that of an automatic weapon, and then the slightly louder solitary shots of what she assumed to be Wil's pistol. She wondered if she should try to help, though she knew she'd probably get in the way. And another part of her brain, the part dedicated to survival, was screaming to run. No part of her mind won. She was frozen in place.

It seemed an eternity before Wil reappeared and yelled for her to hurry. A thin, inconsistent trail of blood followed behind the now limping man. She ran down the last few steps and across the space between them, seeing a tear in his sleeve with a bit of blood. She didn't yet see the fact he'd been shot just below the knee, but she was worried enough over the wound resulting from a bullet grazing his arm.

If you little readers were expecting him to get through a gunfight with trained Spetsnaz soldiers unscathed, you're living in a sad, unrealistically hopeful world. He's good, but only man.

"Oh my god, you're hit..." she said, and began to, in short, freak out. She moved around Wil, trying to better examine the wound, but he walked past her as he took notice to an emergency exit behind the stairs they had came down.

"Come on," he said, moving quick despite the still bleeding bullet wound causing his limp. "And fucking keep up and stay behind me."

Ollie was a bit startled by his harsh tone, but she did as he said and followed by him. She noticed some sort of new gun he must have taken. She didn't know what it was, but assumed what was actually an AK-104 assault riffle was some sort of machine gun.

He ran peeked out of the door, and knew that now was their only chance, even with the armed Russians headed their way. "Run as fast as you fucking can," he said, reloading his pistol with a fresh clip. "Don't look back. Just get to where you're safe."

She was surprised at his words, and even more so when he held out the pistol to her. She knew nothing of firearms, and had never even thought of wielding one. It felt strange in her hand. The metal was warm from where he'd held it. It wasn't as light as something of that size looked, but it wasn't too heavy to handle. She looked up to Wil, but felt his stern eyes upon her. But he saw her fear. "I'll be right behind you," he promised, before he pushed the door open. "Now, go!" he commanded, and she finally did as she was told without arguing.

Olivia ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She wanted to look back, make sure he was behind her. She wanted to outrun all of it. It was just a jog. It was gym class all over again. Maybe if she ran and ran, pushing herself and ignoring the pain in her side, it would end soon. She would think she can't take another step, and think that with every stride, and it would finally be over. She breathed heavily as she kept going, hearing the heavy yells of the soldiers before she heard one deafening gunshot.


	2. This Dirty Town is Burning Down

**The shortness saddens me TT-TT**

**I dun own Wil. Again. Yet XD**

**Feel free to critique as you wish. I'm still getting back into writing and this is the one story that I'm not feeling too pressured with. I'm keeping it fun, ya know? But it's nice to know someone might want me to update. XD**

* * *

Olivia had pushed herself as hard as she could, but the thing that made it the hardest to keep going was the sound of a gun going off just behind her. She stumbled a bit, not paying attention, and found herself falling face first as she went over a hill.

The grasses were tall, and as mush as they might have seemed soft, and looked like rolling waves, they were rigid and broke under her as she rolled down the hill. The stems poked against her, and offered no cushioning from the ground. Bruises and a few small cuts and scratches were unavoidable, but when she stopped at the bottom, she wasn't even entirely sure she was alive.

Oliver lay in the poorly maintained ditch, rocks poking into her and dirty water moving around her. Litter surrounded her, and even lay inside of the storm drain a few yards away. She heard more gunshots, and the loud purr of rounds purring from submachine guns and the rolling bangs of assault riffles going off. Explosions in the distance accented the sounds above her, but she could barely hear anything over her own pounding heart.

The sky above her was a blue, with the horizon bright with the setting sun. If only the explosions of pinks and oranges were the only things to make the noises on the constant attack. The city just north of her suburban dwelling had become a warzone, her neighborhood and ones like it not even worth being called that. No one here fought back. Here, it was just a slaughter.

Oliver, despite the pain in her side and her pounding heart, and the being lightheaded, her mind still urged her to get back up, climb out, and keep running. She lay there a moment more before pushing herself up to where she sat. But, she saw a mass come down the hill as she had and land just in front of the storm drain.

"Shit..." coughed Wil, seeming to have rolled into a sitting position upon reaching the bottom of the steep hill. He looked over to her, examining her up and down to see if she'd sustained any injury since leaving the building.

"Nice cut you got there," he said, before turning his attention to his own wounds.

"Huh?" she asked, unaware of any cut. Upon it being mentioned, she felt the sting of the shallow gash on her cheek. The blood had trailed down to her jaw, but was already clotting up and drying in areas where the blood had already escaped. Oliver touched it, and felt a small piece of the broken leaf stuck in the drying blood. She wanted it gone, but didn't trust herself to remove the partially hidden particle.

Instead, she turned her attention to Wil, who'd removed his shirt and-

Hot damn...

She hadn't seen the man shirtless before, but despite the sight of it, her mind returned to the fact he was injured. He tore off one of the short sleeves and wrapped the strip of fabric tightly around the wound on his arm's wound. He winced at the pressure, but proceeded to try and tie it with one hand. Despite already having mastered such an art, he failed.

"Let me help you," Oliver said, readily wanting to assist. She moved toward him, but when she got within a few feet, he moved away.

"I saw you go over that hill," he explained, "You're about as graceful as a wasted monkey. I don't want you helping with this."

Oliver crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. He was so much different than when he'd come over to he apartment earlier. He was even harsher about what he did or said when he was recording for his little army show. She watched him. She knew they were in a serious situation, so she shouldn't be pissed off at him, but it didn't make her any less upset.

Wil tied off the strip of fabric torn from his deep green shirt. He looked down at the bullet wound on his leg, but with the sound of approaching voices, he knew he couldn't worry about it now. "C'mon," he told her as he crawled toward the storm drain under a road. She followed behind him and stopped by him just outside the metal tunnel.

"Get in " Wil said, and she gave him a look before crawling past him. He followed her, collapsing just inside. The blood loss and exhaustion were certainly getting to him.

"Wil?" she asked, moving toward him. He responded only by putting his index finger to his lips to hush her. She leaned over him, obviously worried. She looked down and saw the round hole in the fabric on his jeans surrounded by blood.

She grabbed the shirt that he's taken off and pressed it to the wound. She heard the voices speaking a language she didn't understand get closer. He watched her, wincing at the touch, but he remained silent. The voices clarity was a bit muffled with the ground between the Russians and them, but the sounds of them talking echoed in the metallic cave. Neither knew Russian, so how clear their words were wasn't important. They were rather calm, and Wil and Oliver could hear the crackle of a radio, and assumed they were already settling into security rounds.

It sickened Oliver, and infuriated Wil, at how little resistance there was against the invaders. How could there not be armed men with an American flag patch on their sleeve not be coming and shooting these mother fuckers right back? He'd fought for this damned country. He was in active service for over a decade. How could they not be helping their own now?

He tried to rationalize that the larger cities were facing similar attacks, and all forces were dispatched there first. And with Russia being so massive, they had to have more manpower on hand and ready to attack, while America had most of it's men and women over in a damn desert fighting a fight that was no longer theirs.

He stared up at her with tired, hazel eyes. Wil's feet rest in her lap as she held the fabric against the wound on his leg. He breathed slowly, knowing he had to keep his heart rate calm and steady. He couldn't lose more blood. Olivia glanced up to him from her attention being focused on his leg. She still had the lean over, the small space not allowing her to sit up straight and comfortably.

"You okay?" she mouthed to him before they heard a loud crack on the radio above them. There was yelling coming through, and they heard the quick, heavy footsteps on the pavement over them take off toward where they had came from.

He nodded when there was silence above them. He didn't trust the lack of proof of life close by. They couldn't be that lucky.

But his luck wasn't turning out as bad as it could be. He was still alive. He'd gotten her out safely. He'd been shot, but the bullet missed the bone. Instead, though, unfortunately, it had buried itself deep into the muscle just by it. He could already feel the pain of whenever it has to be dug out. He was going to be down for what will destined to feel like an eternity.

"I think it's okay," she whispered as quietly as she could, but tried to still be audible to the man in front of her. He wished she hadn't spoke, but with even the distant sounds of violence seeming to have calmed down, and the pair sitting in silence for stretched out minutes after, he began to believe her.

"Alright," he said, and he began to crawl out of the tiny tunnel, wincing with each movement as his leg scraped against the ground.

The two emerged from their shelter, and were greeted by no one. No one alive, anyway. A few bodies littered the street, and blood wasn't a rare sight now. Upon standing and seeing such a sight, Oliver doubled over, her stomach refusing to hold down whatever she had eaten that day all of the sudden.

Wil used the wall of soil and rock coming down from the road to pull himself to his feet. For obvious reasons, he kept all his weight on his left leg. He looked over to Oliver, but found it easier to not watch someone vomiting over the sight of a massacre.

"We need to move," he said, making the young woman look up after a few dry heaves. Her stomach was empty, and as sick as she may still feel, vomit was not an option at the moment. She coughed a bit, and spat, trying to rid her mouth of the taste. She wiped her mouth and under her nose with the back of her hand before she stood up and nodded to what he said.

After helping him up the hill and to the road above, they were still met with no resistance. A few jets roared overhead, making both Oliver and Wil look up to see the source of the noise. She walked slowly by Wil as he limped, before offering he shoulder as a crutch. He took her assistance with little protest, and the two kept in the center of the road as they went up a hill before they could get to the edges of the urban jungle, often bustling with corporate drones and gang members. They went, his arm over her shoulder, and one of hers around his waist, and it was she who first froze at the top of the hill. Laid out in front of them was the remnants of the city, rubble, fire, and crumpling structures combined.


End file.
